Be a Dream
by Myrielle
Summary: There is no sweetness to the sorrow of parting, as Legolas learns to his grief. Bound irrevocably to Eowyn, he decides to claim her for always. Sequel to The Stars Apart.


_Disclaimer: Not written for profit, don't own anything either._

_Summary: There is no sweetness to the sorrow of parting, as Legolas learns to his grief. Bound irrevocably to Eowyn, he decides to claim her for always. Sequel to The Stars Apart._

_Pairing: Legolas/Eowyn_

**Be A Dream**

-Prologue-

There is no happiness to be had between an elf and a human. All seems dark but to the deep blue eyes of Legolas, focused as they are on the piece of sky that Eowyn sleeps beneath, cradled in his arms, the light grows and the shadows fade. As morning's heralds sweep imperceptibly into and across the horizon, he cannot help but remember the warnings of his tutors, of his father. The silent agony in Arwen's eyes and the way she catches each new sign of ageing in Aragorn comes back afresh into him and bites him with a sorrow he experiences for the first time. This is what will happen if he remains, if they stay. And he remembers that Eowyn has not asked him to stay. Not once, in all the long moments she has spent in his arms, moments that meld together in a blazing memory that will remained kindled forever, has she talked about a future. He has not even seen the longing for that in her eyes. He wonders if she has seen any such desire in his. He cannot be sure of what he has revealed, because inside, all is chaos although he lies perfectly still.

Firstborn and Afterborn, Eldar and Edain, immortality and the Gift of Men. A gift that is now his doom, he thinks, if it cannot be avoided. Legolas thinks of Arwen, in all her luminous beauty laying down in the leaves of fading Lorien, destined to die alone out of grief for Aragorn. He thinks of another, the even more beautiful Morning Star, Tinuviel, who for the love of a great man, similarly laid herself down and willingly entered into death and beyond for him.

The thought of death makes him, who was born to live forever, shudder slightly. But his heart warms when Eowyn, still asleep, nestles closer and slides her arm over his in a bid to keep him from the cold. Death, the great unknown, a black darkness which looms before him and in contrast, he sees in his mind's eye the white mountains, green hills and silver shores of Valinor. There to live forever with all he knows and those he loves. Before he is aware of it, too late to prevent himself either, his gaze slides down to the gold intertwined in his fingers and he thinks to himself that neither sunset nor sunrise in the Undying Lands could compare to its richness.

The sentiment tears him further apart. He saw, he desired and he took. Eowyn would never be a casual affair, an object to sate a temporal lust but what he does not understand is how he could want her beyond this. He had sought to give himself a memory, to satisfy a deep yearning and to save himself the subtle agony of wondering what could have been. This is all he can have and it confuses him to find that his heart whispers for more. There can be no more and he did not expect to feel this way. In spite of his thousands of years of experience, he does not know what to do with his traitorous heart.

And what he truly wants to do, he is powerless to perform as well. Meduseld lies in deep slumber and no one stirs, no sound that his keen hearing can detect. He would have time pause in her merciless tracks. But soon, too soon, people will waken and he must leave her side. Legolas does not know how his friends will respond if they know Eowyn and he have been lovers, but he certainly can predict the rage that will drive her brother and uncle to take swords to him. It would certainly shatter any hope of an alliance between Gondor and Rohan.

She awakens to find him in such a state of unrest. His eyes are cloudy, his mouth taut with tension, there is a quiet storm inside him. "What has happened?" Her voice, husky with sleep, cracks slightly and Eowyn clears her throat, rising up on one elbow. "Legolas?"

Elves have been accused of being deceptive and cunning. Eowyn understands why when his despair vanishes instantly. He takes her hand, kisses the knuckles softly, and smiles. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have known he was in turmoil. "I missed you," he says and she knows he is being sincere. In sleep, she is away from him and those hours do not return and cannot be taken back. Together, yet apart and she has aged in that short span. Suddenly she wonders if Aragorn has ever felt this way, and she thinks about the mysterious beautiful elf maiden who surely must have contemplated his mortality yet loved him enough to pledge herself to him.

_She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin…_

Still, she left him. She went because he would grow old and die and there would be nothing left for her. The elf had decided to save herself from greater sorrow and Eowyn suddenly very much wants to ask Legolas if there is any other way, is separation, whether immediate or eventual, all that is left for an elf and a human. But to do so would be to open the door to a silent question that might speak so loud it would destroy what they have shared. So she holds the words inside and makes do with what she has. Her hands trace the beautiful features of his face, flawless and unearthly in its perfection. Under his clear gaze, she feels she can rest. This person who understands her like no other and has given her an acceptance she has been searching for ever since she has known herself. For this, she gives him this night and as he leans down to kiss her, to plunder her, she wonders what else she may have given away unknowingly.

Beneath her hands he is strong, pulling her in like the strong currents of a river and she forgets she breathes as he takes her. Even as they burn with ecstasy, Eowyn wonders if there will be a time when she is too weak to hold him like this, to aged to incite this kind of desire and it is horrendously unsettling to realize that the right question to ask is not if such a time should arrive but if she would be able to accept the arrival of such a time. She pulls away, gasps slightly for the thought is too much but he does not let her go and pulls her under with him again, demanding, coaxing, succeeding if only for the moment in drawing her away from fear.

By the time they are finally spent, the sky above has visibly lightened and an early morning breeze that now winds its way through the open corridors and windows of Meduseld cools the fine sheen of sweat over their lithe bodies. Legolas has his face buried in her neck and her palms cup his tender, sensitive ears, slender fingers stroking the fine tips and driving him to distraction. Still, he cannot block out the sounds of a household stirring. When he looks up, he sees sadness glimmering in her eyes and knows she is aware the time to part has come. One night is all he dares and he will not come to her again. And she, fair White Lady of Rohan, a daughter of princes and kings, would not approach him. After all, it was he who had first sought her out.

He whispers to her in his own tongue, knowing full well the words would elude her. In this way, he stops himself from giving her his heart. He tells her he is thankful for the rapture that she is, that she has shared herself with him, that he believes what they have gained will exceed the loss to come. She is mute, silent as a statue and when they next kiss, her lips feel cool and he knows she has retreated into herself. Day has come and she is the same Eowyn as she was yesterday before they touched. Or so Legolas tells himself as he swiftly dresses. In spite of his misgivings, he turns before he lays a hand on the solid heavy door of her chamber and looks behind at her. She sits ramrod straight on the bed, the sheets held up against her breast and for a moment, as the sun breaks through, there is a sheen in her eyes that might be mistaken for tears. It is gone so quickly he wonders if he imagines it.

It is with a heavy heart that Legolas leaves. He steels himself, preparing a tale for an undoubtedly curious Aragorn and a formidably perceptive Gandalf. For once, he does not have to worry about Gimli. The hobbits would only have questions about breakfast and perhaps their plans for the day. Above all, Legolas tells himself that he has no regrets. The idea that he does not wish to leave her does not bear contemplating.

It is with a heavy heart that Eowyn watches as Legolas departs. One moment he is there and the next he has vanished. If not for the crumpled sheets and the sweet scent of him on her skin, she would have thought it all a dream. She steels herself against the tears and a strange deep sadness inside. Undoubtedly, Eomer and her uncle would be curious as to why she deserted her post as lady of the hall. She would have to prepare a satisfactory tale. The day must go on although she and Legolas have gone as far as they possibly can. _You will not regret_, she tells herself fiercely as she rises to meet the morning. She cannot regret, because she will be undone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_The Muse has been taken captive by Eowyn and Legolas. The rest of the chapters will be written to a mix of the movies and books; I prefer to stay as close to cannon as possible although I realise this pairing might make the wonderful Tolkien grumble in his grave. Also, I would like to ask that you have a look at "The Stars Apart", not because I want to toot my own horn but because I am majorly ticked off with the hiding of "M" rated fics._


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